Chapter Nineteen

Alec still hadn't woken for the day. It seemed Count Olaf had let them both sleep half the day away while he was wrapped up in whatever it was he was working so diligently on.

Violet poked her head inside the pantry, which was still unlocked, to see Alec curled on the mattress, his shiny new slingshot clutched against his chest. Despite her argument with Count Olaf, she could not help the small smile she gave at the sight.

"Alec?" she said gently and the boy stirred, looking up at her with sleepy eyes. "Come now, we've slept half the day away. We've got a full day ahead of us."

She left him to stretch and get ready for the day, turning instead to the kitchen. While it was still in need of work, she did admit it was in much better condition than when she'd first arrived.

Violet crossed over to the cabinets and began pulling down the ingredients for pancakes. The three of them had been an odd picture of domesticity. When there was nothing in particular on the agenda, Violet made breakfast, Violet made lunch, and Violet made dinner. The three ate together around the small kitchen table and it wasn't…unpleasant.

She was trying, very hard, as she measured the ingredients to shake the argument she'd had with Count Olaf. She did think it would help her clear her head to spend time with Oswald and she did expect Count Olaf's frustration with her admittedly spiteful handling of the situation, but she hadn't expected him to be as angry as he had been. And she hadn't expected for herself to become so angry in return, but everything had just turned so vile so quickly and there was no stopping the nasty remarks falling from her mouth.

Violet recalled how Count Olaf once had the Baudelaire children trapped in that tiny boat, how Klaus and Sunny had argued with Violet that they should push him overboard and leave him. Though he didn't deserve it, she had argued on Count Olaf's behalf. And though he didn't deserve it now, after every single horrible thing he had done to her, she had a pit in her stomach urging her to apologize for how spiteful she'd acted.

She dreaded the thought of him coming down to breakfast just as much as she dreaded the thought of him eating upstairs. Both were somehow the better and worse option. If he ate with them, she would have to face him, but she would be able to get a better read on him and perhaps smooth over their fight. If he ate alone, she wouldn't have to face him, but she'd be left fretting to herself all day.

Perhaps she had allowed herself to get too comfortable with him. Violet was not one to flatter herself, but she felt quite certain it was jealousy she saw in his eyes upstairs. It was clear, whether she was right or wrong on her thought, that she had more severely wounded his ego - in some way - than she had anticipated. He had not reacted as if she had foiled his plans; she had done that enough times to know it. He had reacted as if she had hurt him.

It felt as if a knife had twisted in her stomach when she recalled that searching look he'd had when she told him she would prefer the company of another.

Why was it so easy for her to burn down and kill - yes, kill, she was a murderess as he liked to remind her - his many nameless henchmen without what should be an appropriate amount of remorse, but the thought of hurting him hurt her? He who had been the source of all that woe!

And now she had probably ruined what little civility they had, not only for herself, but for Alec, as well.

She sent Alec upstairs to ask Count Olaf where he would like his breakfast. Alec came back down and said he would take it upstairs.

Violet's stomach had tightened.

And when she went upstairs with the phone book to call the countless bands and caterers, the office door had been closed and he did not once poke his head out to give her some snide comment or leer at her. Her stomach tightened more.

He sent Alec down for his lunch and did not even throw a fit over sending down his keyring so they could unlock the back door to work in the yard. She thought for sure he would insist on coming down and unlocking it himself.

And not once - not once - did she feel him looking out into the backyard as they worked from the window in his office. She and Alec had spent hours struggling with the rusted gardening shears, trying to tame back the overgrowth. They plucked and pulled and weeded and still when it was time for supper, they were not done. Maybe Count Olaf would not be pleased with their progress and would yell at them. That, at least, would have been better than his silence.

Violet also let herself hope that perhaps he was just distracted with whatever project he'd been working so diligently on that morning. So when she'd prepared supper - roast beef, if only to try to get some reaction out of him - she did not send Alec up with his plate. She took it instead.

The office door was still closed, but there was a stillness inside. Perhaps he had heard someone coming up the stairs? Her stomach was a tight knot as it had been all day. Violet held his dinner plate in one hand and with the other gave a quiet knock on the door.

There was silence for a moment and then, "Yes?"

She let her hand, lingering, drop from the door. "I've…brought your supper," she said quietly.

Again that silence from inside that went on for too long.

"You can leave it outside the door, I'll get it in a moment."

The knots in her stomach tightened further. She leaned her shoulder against the door with a sigh, fingers digging into the edges of his plate.

"It's roast beef," she said, not entirely sure how she felt about the little note of hope that wiggled its way into her tone. "It won't be as good once it goes cool."

"You can leave it outside the door," he repeated.

Violet laid her forehead against the door and fought back a groan.

"I was able to secure a caterer," she tried. "They won't be able to order food on such short notice, but they have stock of salmon and rice pilaf on hand."

Again, silence.

"And - and a band," she continued. "The only I could find with availability was an accordion quartet."

"Very well."

More and more of his silence, until -

"Why are you still standing there?" he asked.

She sighed. "I…wanted to apologize for my actions this morning."

Footsteps came toward the door and she lifted herself away from it, lest he open the door and she would go sprawling at his feet. He wrenched the door open and revealed his tight face. Count Olaf reached out and snatched the plate from her hands.

"Why would I require an apology from an insignificant orphan?" he spat. Violet stepped back, her stomach going very cold. She knew that her face betrayed the sudden hurt of his words, but she could not look away from him, nor stop the single quiver of her bottom lip. The scent of liquor permeated the air with his words. "Do not disturb me again while I am working."

Then he shut the door in her face. Violet let out a little gasp of air, one she didn't realize she had held while he spoke, and turned to flee down the stairs. She stopped in the rumpus room and swiped at her eyes - she was not crying, but they had misted over at the shock of his words and she didn't want Alec to see.

She had…misread the situation. Perhaps because of her recent wayward thoughts toward him she had thought -

What had she thought?

What did she think was going to happen after she took him to the sapphires? She was nothing but a tool, a means to an end. She would take him to the sapphires and then he would either throw her out, penniless, or…kill her.

Insignificant orphan.

Of course he had not been jealous. He was just preoccupied with his project and she had gone rogue with her telephone call and he had to be pulled away from his work to babysit her. It had been foolish of her to think any different. Instead of feeling bad for perhaps hurting him, now all she felt was burning embarrassment for thinking herself something more than just a pawn on his board, something capable of hurting him. Violet didn't think much of anything was capable of hurting Count Olaf; where had she gotten such a ridiculous notion that she could?

And so what if he had been acting improper toward her? What was it to him? She was largely useless to him outside of the sapphires and this was Count Olaf, of course he would take an opportunity to have her warm his bed. It was nothing more to him, she was sure, than making sure he got all she was worth before she was gone, one way or another.

An emptiness clawed at her chest and she winced, pressing a hand tight to her sternum. How could she have forgotten that sharp empty pain she'd had since Quigley and Beatrice left her? It had gone at some point during her time in captivity and she hadn't even realized until it returned.

Violet swiped at her eyes again with her sleeve and went into the kitchen. She forced a smile for Alec, who had set the table for two. That pain in her gave a twinge.

"Was he mad we didn't finish the yard?" Alec said, taking his seat. Violet went to the stovetop and began carving off pieces of roast beef for the two of them.

"No," she said, filling their plates with the beef and some cubed potatoes she'd roasted. "He didn't say a thing about it."

Alec let out a long whew and she brought the plates to the table, sitting his down in front of him first before taking her own seat.

"We'll have to start early tomorrow morning if we want to finish," she said, glancing over at Count Olaf's keyring on the counter. He had not said anything about that either. Not that it mattered; she was ordered not to run and Alec seemed perfectly content to stay.

There was a creak above their heads and they both looked upward. Count Olaf must have already finished his plate and was sitting it outside the door. Violet sighed.

"Did you sleep in Count Olaf's bed last night?" Alec asked, right as she was taking a drink of water which caused her to choke.

"No, no," she sputtered. "What would make you think that?"

Alec looked glum at her answer. "Well, I woke up in the middle of the night and you weren't there," he said. "And one time when I wanted my best friend Penelope to have a sleepover, Mother told me boys and girls could only have slumber parties when they were adults and liked each other very much."

Violet gave a humorless laugh. "Count Olaf and I do not like each other," she said.

"But I wish you did."

He'd said the words in a rush and his ears immediately turned red. His voice seemed to echo in the silence.

"Alec?"

He sighed as if he knew he'd been caught and focused intently on stabbing a potato with his fork. "Well, it's just, I thought maybe if you and Count Olaf did like each other, then you could get married and be my mother and father."

Violet stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar, and he peeked up at her with a look of hope.

"Alec," she said with a sigh, sitting down her fork. "You have a mother and father who I am sure are missing you very much."

"They're not," he said, going back to stabbing at his potatoes with a small frown. "They are mean and never let me do the things I like-"

"Children shouldn't always be allowed to do what they like," she reminded.

"—and sometimes they forget to feed me and you never do."

Violet's chest constricted at his words. His parents sometimes forgot to feed him? What sort of parents did he have? Even Count Olaf, a horrible guardian, had not forgotten to feed her and her siblings. The food was often cold and not good, but they had at least been fed!

"Alec," she said gently. "I do not know what Count Olaf's plans are for you. He may take you back to your parents for a ransom. He may decide to keep you. I don't think anyone can ever truly know what he wants at any given moment. But," she paused, her mouth feeling dry at just the thought, "I do know that he most certainly would have no interest in marrying me. Count Olaf does not do anything if there isn't something to gain from it. I am sure as soon as his business with me is concluded, he'll be rid of me. I am insignificant."

Count Olaf had not finished his food quickly and sat it outside the door, as Violet thought. He was tired of eating alone when he'd grown so used to company, but was too stubborn to go down and join them. He'd taken a seat at the top of the stairs, plate sitting next to him on the floor, and just listened to them. Pretended, even, that he was part of the conversation. But then she'd said what she said - Violet's voice quiet, but still carrying up to him.

"I am sure as soon as his business with me is concluded, he'll be rid of me. I am insignificant."

He clenched his eyes shut, teeth clamped. He had hurt her with his terrible, untrue words. Only the day before he'd been so resolute in wooing her and she had been so receptive, even if she'd pushed him away but then that stupid boy had to call on her and ruin everything, then his own anger had to ruin it more, and that smug little smirk she'd given him had made him want to throttle her and kiss her all at once, to immediately remedy whatever discord the banker had sown, because he had been so happy and he had watched it unravel before him with every hissed remark from her mouth.

Yes, the thought of Violet Baudelaire being stubborn, but receptive to his advances had made him…happy. The sight of her pretty, sleeping face in his office had made him happy. The way she'd not immediately greeted him with the anger she'd parted on the night before, the way she had instead told him good morning like a question, made him happy.

How could she-, why would she even believe for a second that she was insignificant? He had said it merely to make her go away because he was still angry, and he had said it in anger, how did she not know that when people were angry they just said things that weren't necessarily true, they just said things to make the other person hurt?

She wasn't supposed to think it was true.

And that untruth had hurt her. He had seen that wounded flash in her eyes, that slight tremble of her lip, before he'd slammed the door in her face. She had been trying to make it better. She had come upstairs with his dinner and tried. Tried with her stumbling attempts at conversation, tried with an actual apology, and his pride had shoved her away. Now she thought she was insignificant.

"But, do you like Count Olaf?" Alec asked.

Violet sighed. "This is not an appropriate conversation to be having, Alec."

"I think he likes you."

Count Olaf nearly tore down the stairs and throttled the boy's head against the dining room table.

"Count Olaf may like me enough to want me to have a slumber party," she said, trying not to grimace at the delicate way she had to handle the conversation. "But he does not like me well enough to want me to have a slumber party every night, which is very important for marriage."

"Grown-ups are so complicated," Alec grumbled. "If he wants to have a slumber party one night, why wouldn't he want to have a slumber party lots of nights?"

Violet rubbed the space between her brows. This conversation was going to give her a headache, surely.

"Well, you see-," she started, "-some men and women prefer to have one-time slumber parties and enjoy their nice empty bed to themselves the rest of the time. Some people prefer to have slumber parties only a couple of times with the same person if they enjoyed their company enough the first time, but then they decide they've had enough of that person's company and have someone else over for a slumber party. Not everyone wants one never ending slumber party."

"And you don't think Count Olaf wants a never ending slumber party?"

Violet thought on that for a moment. "I think-," she said slowly, "- that he did have someone he wanted very much to have a never ending slumber party with, but that person…hurt his feelings, so he told them they were uninvited and never really wanted, or never let himself want, a never ending slumber party again."

On the stairs, Count Olaf froze, his fork hanging in midair.

"Did you ever have somebody you wanted to have a never ending slumber party with, Violet?"

A surprised and sad sort of laugh filled the house. "I did," she said with a smile. "I loved him very much and would have gladly had one endless slumber party with him."

Alec looked disgruntled at this. "It's not Oswald is it?" he said with a grimace.

Violet's mouth popped open in surprise and she let out a loud laugh. "Oh, don't tell me you don't like Oswald, either! Poor Oswald, he hasn't done anything wrong."

"He wears too much cologne," Alec grumbled. "Mother once told her friend you can't trust a man who wears too much cologne."

Violet sputtered and laughed in delight. Count Olaf, perched in hiding, thought this was very good advice that Violet Baudelaire should listen to.

"Well, she did!" Alec argued, then grumbled and tucked back into his potatoes with a pronounced frown. "It is Oswald you want to have a slumber party with, isn't it?"

The irony of the situation was not lost on Violet. She had, in fact, plotted that morning to have a literal slumber party with Oswald, but not a figurative one. He was a gentleman, afterall, and had offered her a spare room.

"No," she said with a soft smile, "Not Oswald. Quigley. We were going to be married."

Alec looked over at her, a little tuck between his brow. "Well if you were going to get married then where is he?"

Violet's throat constricted. She suddenly looked at her plate and plucked up her fork.

Count Olaf chewed his roast beef with a frown, listening.

"He died," she said finally, plucking up a potato and popping it in her mouth.

Alec's mouth formed a little oh. "I'm sorry," he said. He was only eight, but he did know enough to know that was what you said when someone died, even if you didn't know the someone.

Violet cleared her throat. "It's alright," she said. "Everyone dies, Alec. You and I will die one day, too. All we can do is live in a way that others will miss us when we're gone."

And in that way children are so skilled at diverting the topic in a less than sly way, Alec looked up at her and said, "So, you don't want to have a slumber party with Oswald?"

She let out a huff of air that was somehow also a laugh. "Not as such," she said. "I have to get to know a person before I want to…have a slumber party with them. And I want them to get to know me."

Count Olaf put his fork on his now-empty plate and crossed his arms. He knew her. And she knew him. So why was this all so difficult?

"And -," she continued, "-sleeping is a very vulnerable thing. I have to trust a person before I can sleep…next to them."

Well that's stupid, he thought. You don't have to trust a person to bed them! In fact, it makes it all the more exciting when you don't!

If Violet had to trust someone first, then what was the point in even trying to seduce her? She would never trust him.

She would never trust him.

That thought settled like lead bricks in his stomach. Violet…would never trust him.

"And you can't…trust Count Olaf?" Alec asked.

Violet chewed on her roast beef in thought and then, once her mouth was clear because it was terrible manners to talk with your mouth full, she leaned toward Alec conspiratorially. "Would you trust someone that once had a plot to cut off your head?" she asked.

Alec's eyes widened. "Cut off your head?"

Oh, not this, Count Olaf thought with a grimace. He wouldn't have actually done it! It was a plot to scare them and flush Klaus out of hiding. Now, had it been her mouthy brother, things might have been different, but not Violet. Never Violet.

Violet nodded grimly. It was all in the past and she did, in fact, still have a head on her shoulders, but she knew such plots excited the little boy and so she indulged him (rather in an attempt to get the subject off slumber parties). "He was going to perform a cranioectomy," she said. "Cranio means head and -ectomy means to remove."

"Count Olaf was going to cut off your head?" he repeated, a little gleam of excitement in his eye. Perhaps, she mused, Count Olaf would keep Alec afterall. "Like all the way off?"

She nodded. "All the way," she confirmed. "Now tell me, would you trust someone who tried to cut off your head?"

Alec mulled that over. "I suppose it would depend on if they apologized," he decided.

"Apologized!" Violet said with a laugh. "Alec, if someone tries to cut off your head and you let them apologize, then I'm going to come after you and cut off your head!"

Alec giggled, his grin wide. "Well! Did Count Olaf ever apologize?"

"Of course not!" she said with a grin. "I don't think he even knows how to apologize!"

"Well if he did, would you trust him then?"

"Alec," she said. "The day Count Olaf apologizes for trying to cut off my head is the day rain will start falling up, the day the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, and the day I might give trusting him a chance."

"Just might?"

"Just might," she said. "Because it will never happen."

Well, that was it, then. Count Olaf would just…have to apologize. The word, even in thought, made his tongue feel heavy.

Surely she would come back upstairs to try apologizing again and this time he would be prepared. He was still angry and couldn't go to her first, of course. But he would fix it. He would accept her apology for her horrid behavior (sternly, of course, he was already set on the path of anger and could not renege on that now) and then he would…apologize.

A shudder snaked up his spine.

He would…figure out a way to make the words come out. And then she would trust him (he was largely ignoring the might and the fact that she hadn't been serious) and he could steer them back on the path of…slumber parties. And, perhaps, not just slumber parties. He…thought of her flushed face, drink in hand, sitting on the loveseat while he told her his story. He would like…more of that, too. More of her just…around.

All he had to do was wait for her to come crawling back, as all women undoubtedly did to wicked men, and try her apologies again.

He stood, reassured with his new plan, and placed his empty plate outside his office door before closing himself in to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He'd heard Alec's lighter steps come up the stairs to retrieve his plate, then shuffle back down.

He waited some more.

An hour passed and then two. Where was she? Being stubborn, no doubt. He would wait. She would come.

He'd had far too much brandy throughout the day and it was making all this waiting difficult. Drowsiness pulled at his eyes. He looked over to the clock on his desk. It was just after ten. Three hours he'd been waiting!

She would come. He closed his eyes. He would hear her when she came up the stairs and he would be ready.

He woke with a start and his eyes shot to the clock. A quarter past three!

Had he missed Violet? Surely not. He would have heard her, he would have woken up.

Did she…not come?

Why wouldn't she have come?

Insignificant.

The word clutched at his chest, clawed at his stomach.

Insignificant.

It had been the word that echoed through her mind since dinner. No matter how hard she scrubbed at the dishes, she could not make it go away.

She felt like crying and she didn't even know why. All she wanted was for that horrid emptiness in her chest to stop chipping away at her, to stop hurting.

Count Olaf had not come down to lock them away in their pantry. After the dishes were done, she got Alec settled in next to her (he'd reached up to rub her earlobe again, just like Beatrice, and it nearly split her in half with pain).

At least in sleep she could make it stop for a while. Funny how quickly she felt back into the mindset of when she lived alone. If she spent more time sleeping, then she spent less time hurting.

But no matter how long she tried to relax, to just be still next to Alec's rhythmic breathing, she could not sleep. And she tried so hard, tried counting backwards from one hundred, tried humming a lullaby, tried to envision herself in some happier life in a little cottage by the sea with an inventing room. Not even laying there with her eyes shut willing sleep to come would help.

Her eyes popped open.

Count Olaf had ordered her to only sleep in his office until he told her differently.

She could not sleep.

She sighed and wiggled free of Alec's sleeping grip. Surely Count Olaf had forgotten with as angry as he had been and as absorbed in his work.

In the kitchen, she stopped to gather her nerves. What was the worst he could do? Spit more insults at her? She already felt at a new low, what more could he possibly do? She had looked up at the clock - nearly two in the morning - and set her jaw. She'd not heard him leave his office. She would just…just go up there and tell him he needed to let her sleep in the pantry. That she couldn't sleep.

And she needed sleep so badly. She needed to not feel the horrible things she was feeling, to press back the long, sticky fingers of depression that were clawing at her.

She propelled herself forward, through the rumpus room, toward the stairs. But she…she couldn't make herself take the first step. It was not nerves. She tried to flex her muscles, tried to move her leg and could not.

"Do not disturb me again while I am working."

She let out a terrible, sad huff of a laugh, like the sound of someone at their wit's end.

She could not sleep anywhere but his office. And she could not disturb him while he was working in his office.

If she could not sleep, then she could not escape the empty pain in her chest. If she could not escape the empty pain in her chest -

She looked up the stairwell, drawing a breath to call out to him, but nothing would leave her mouth except a sob.

"Please," she tried to say, hoping he would hear it, but it only came as a whispered plea. Her eyes were burning as the escape she needed so badly skirted out of reach. She…she couldn't hold it in any longer, she needed to sleep, to make her sudden feelings of stupidity and uselessness go away, to feel blissfully unaware of just how alone she was, just for a few hours, and she couldn't stop the tears from spilling over her lashes.

Violet sat on the couch in the living room and cried. Cried because she had finally had a life worth living, cried because it had been ripped away from her by yet another fire, cried because she missed Quigley and Beatrice and could never have them back, cried because she missed Klaus and Sunny and needed them more than ever. She cried for the parents she hadn't truly known, her parents who did horrible things and schemed schemes. She cried for Uncle Monty and Aunt Josephine and happier times. She cried about the terrible things she had done and cried more because she didn't care and would do it again. She cried because life was always unfair to her, because she always drew the short stick. But perhaps most of all, she cried because Count Olaf had seen her and knew her pain and she thought maybe, finally, she wasn't alone. She cried because he reminded her that she was.

She cried because she was insignificant.

No matter how hard or long or thoroughly she cried, that familiar ache persisted.

She could not sit on the couch any longer. She had to do something, anything, to stop thinking, to stop feeling so panicked that perhaps she had ruined the only semblance of adult companionship and understanding that she had, even if he was terrible, even if he had tried to cut off her head! She'd ruined it and it was her fault and she was alone.

Violet tore through the kitchen, snatching his keys off the counter. With hurried, shaking hands she opened the back door. There was enough moonlight to work. She just - she had to do something with her hands, something methodical that would dull her thinking.

She picked up the garden shears and started pruning.

Insignificant.

Count Olaf looked at the clock again to be sure he'd read the time correctly. He had.

Violet hadn't come.

He became aware of an intermittent thudding noise. What was that noise trying to draw him away from his thoughts on the very troubling subject of Violet Baudelaire and her lack of a second apology?

A chill tickled the base of his spine. What was that noise? It was coming from outside, from the backyard. For a horrible moment he pictured the girl's siblings attempting some rescue, or even the VFD come to finally put an end to him. But Violet and Alec were in the house and if Volunteers set the house ablaze -

He doused his desk lamp, the only source of light in the room, and crept with a heavy stomach toward the couch and window behind it. Yes, the sound was definitely coming from the backyard. Covered by the darkness of the room, he looked out, looked for any indication of someone being there who ought not be. His mind was already racing, suddenly sobered, trying to form an escape plan with Violet and Alec in tow.

It was…Violet? He could see her shape outlined by the soft moonlight, a pair of dull gardening shears wielded in her hands like a weapon or a lifeline or both.

Why was she down there when she should be up here begging for his forgiveness? And why was she gardening at three in the morning?

But then she turned, her attention moving to a new overgrown bush, and he could more clearly see her swollen face, he could see the moon catch the wetness on her cheeks.

She was…crying.

Count Olaf's knees dug into the cushions, his stomach pressed against the back of the couch, and he just watched her through the window. Occasionally she would wipe at her eyes or sometimes just stop for a moment and he could see her shoulders shaking, head bowed low. Then she would go right back to work.

That was…Violet. Suffering alone, making herself bear those burdens, forcing herself into productivity to make it go away. He knew her. He saw her.

Count Olaf raised a knuckle and lightly tapped it on the window, though not loudly enough for her to hear. He saw her in her turmoil, he acknowledged it, knew it.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a bad place like this, Violet?" he asked quietly, then tore himself away from the window.

Tomorrow. She would definitely come to apologize tomorrow.